


An Unexpected Christmas

by Persiflage



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Bernie Wolfe: World's Okay-est Lesbian, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Co-Workers to Friends to Lovers, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Elinor Campbell (mentioned), F/F, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Raf Di Lucca/Adrian "Fletch" Fletcher, Morven Digby (Mentioned) - Freeform, Serena Campbell: Bisexual Extraordinaire, christmas day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27816511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: Canon Divergence: Bernie Wolfe's a locum who usually works on Keller, but Hanssen sends her to AAU to cover Serena Campbell's annual Christmas leave.
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 14
Kudos: 93





	1. Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fortytworedvines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortytworedvines/gifts).



> This is basically forty eight hours of Christmas fluff which totally got away from me! It was written for RedVines (she knows why!) who asked for 'something fluffy involving Serena raising her eyebrow' - I think the infamous eyebrow raise appears three or four times in total! :D Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, hon!
> 
> For those of you who love Jason, I'm sorry he doesn't make an appearance - in this canon divergence Serena has yet to meet him.

“Good morning, Ms Wolfe. Merry Christmas.”

Bernie jumps, startled out of her focus on her computer screen by the wholly unexpected arrival of Serena Campbell, Clinical Lead of AAU, to which Bernie’s been sent to cover for Ms Campbell’s Christmas leave.

“M-Ms C-Campbell. What are you doing here?” she asks, stuttering slightly in surprise.

Serena raises one eyebrow. “I work here, Ms Wolfe. This is my ward.”

“Yes, I know, but you’re rostered off for the Christmas and New Year period. That’s why I am here. As your locum cover.” She feels her face fall. “Oh.”

“Oh what?” asks Serena, sitting down and switching her computer on.

“You don’t trust me not to mess up your ward in your absence,” Bernie says, her heart sinking.

“Ms Wolfe. Bernie.”

Bernie feels warmth blossom in her chest at the way Serena says her name. “Yes?”

“I’m not here because I don’t trust you. I’m here because my wayward daughter got a better offer.”

Bernie frowns at her. “I don’t understand.”

“My ex and his foetus of a wife –” Serena smirks at Bernie’s splutter of laughter in response to the word ‘foetus’ but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge it. “– have gone to Chamonix for Christmas. To ski – or in Edward’s case, to drink an excessive amount of alcohol and ogle the women. And darling Edward invited Elinor to join them. She jumped at the chance of an all-expenses paid trip to the French Alps for the Christmas and New Year break. After all, how could Christmas with her mother in boring old Holby possibly compare?”

Bernie winces at the bitterness in Serena’s voice. “I’m sorry that she abandoned you,” she says. She deeply empathises with the brunette since her own children are still not talking to her yet, so she’ll be spending Christmas alone, too. Which was why she’d agreed to work for the ten days that Serena’s supposed to be off. “I’m still not sure why you’re here, though.”

Serena sighs. “It was either come into work or sit at home alone and start drinking far too early in the day.”

“Oh dear.”

“Quite,” agrees Serena. “What’s your excuse for being here? Surely as a locum you can pick and choose the hours you work?”

“I can,” agrees Bernie. “But like you, I’m on my own. My children still haven’t forgiven me for splitting up the family home, so they’re with their father for the holiday. My friends from my RAMC days are either overseas or with their own families, so I thought I might as well work and ensure that at least one consultant at Holby gets to enjoy their Christmas break. And Hanssen felt I’d be a better fit for AAU than anywhere else.”

Serena smiles. A genuine smile that lights up her face and makes her look even more beautiful than she already does, or so Bernie thinks. “You’re certainly a very good fit for AAU,” she says warmly.

“Thank you.” Bernie ducks her head, her cheeks turning pink in pleasure and embarrassment at the compliment. She regards Serena Campbell very highly: between her role as deputy CEO, her Harvard MBA, her skills as a vascular surgeon, and her management of the Acute Admissions Unit, Bernie doubts she’s ever met a more capable woman. To be considered a good fit for AAU by Serena is definitely a compliment as far as she’s concerned.

“So you’re not going to be spending Christmas Day with your feet up, toasting your slippers in front of the fire and watching seasonal movies, then?” Serena asks, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Bernie snorts. “No, I’ll be here tomorrow. I’m here through until January the 4th. Unless you change your mind. Besides, I don’t have any slippers. Or a fire. Or a television.”

“You don’t have a television?” asks Serena, sounding surprised.

Bernie shakes her head. “I moved into a furnished flat when I moved out of the family home, but said furnishings didn’t include a television. If there’s anything I’m desperate to watch, I’ll watch it on my laptop. Though I don’t think I’ve watched anything since I moved into the flat.”

“So what do you spend your free time doing? If you don’t mind me asking?”

Bernie smiles across their desks at the other woman. “I don’t mind you asking me anything.”

“Careful, Major, that’s giving me unlimited licence to pry.”

Bernie chuckles. “True, Ms Campbell. But just because I don’t mind you asking me anything, doesn’t mean I’ll answer everything.”

“Touché.”

Bernie smirks. “To answer your question, I spend my evenings catching up on my reading: _The Lancet_ and _The BMJ_ , mainly; baking; going for a run; and trying to adapt to civilian life.”

“How long, exactly, were you overseas?”

“Twenty five years.”

“Do you miss it?” Bernie must not hide her wince at that question very well, because Serena holds up her hands in a gesture of peace. “Sorry, that was too personal.”

Bernie shrugs. “Not really. And yes, I do miss it. Acutely. Mostly I miss the camaraderie. That’s not something I’ve found on Civvy Street. Well, not so far. And, I’ll admit, I miss the thrill of carrying out trauma medicine in an active combat zone. For all that I appreciate the fact that the NHS is better equipped, I used to get a kick out of successfully carrying out surgical procedures with very little equipment and while under fire, or at the side of the road, or even in the back of a moving vehicle.”

Serena nods. “I can see that working for the NHS must be quite boring by comparison.”

“It’s not as thrilling, certainly,” Bernie says, trying not to offend.

Serena snorts. “Very diplomatic of you, Major.” 

Before she can ask any further questions, an agency nurse knocks on the doorframe and says, “The ED just called. They’re sending up a patient who was involved in a hit and run. She’s in a pretty bad way, apparently, and they say she’ll need surgery.”

“Alright,” Serena says. “You’d better prep Theatre One and we’ll be out shortly.” 

The nurse nods, then disappears and Bernie gets to her feet, feeling glad that she’s already changed into scrubs. She tends to change as soon as she arrives, so that she doesn’t have to waste time changing in a hurry if an emergency case comes in. 

Serena glances at her. “You look ready for action, Ms Wolfe.”

“Bernie, please,” she says immediately.

Serena gives her a pleased smile. “Thank you.”

Before Bernie can say anything else they hear the bang of the doors as a gurney wallops into them, being brought onto the ward at speed. She hurries out of the consultant’s office to see a young blonde woman of about her daughter Charlotte’s age lying on the gurney and she almost stumbles at the sight until her brain registers, insistently, that this isn’t Charlie.

“Clara Rattigan,” the paramedic tells her, passing over her notes. “Knocked down by a speeding driver in Holby High Street. Her left leg’s badly broken and the ED think that there’s some vascular compromise, too.”

Bernie glances towards the office, but Serena’s already approaching.

“I’ll go and change,” she says, and Bernie nods her thanks, then bends to examine the patient’s left leg. It is a mess, there’s no other way to describe it, and she knows without a shadow of a doubt that she and Serena are going to have a tough time saving it. But she’s determined that they will; she cannot bear the thought of this young woman’s Christmas being ruined by the loss of a leg. Bad enough to have to spend Christmas in the hospital in the first place.

“Get her prepped, please,” Bernie tells Sarah, the agency nurse, “and bring her through to Theatre One. I’m going to go and scrub in. Please ask Ms Campbell to join me.”

“Yes, Ms Wolfe.”

Serena joins Bernie in a timely fashion and they scrub in, then don masks, gloves, aprons, and scrub caps before they move into the theatre. Bernie can’t help smiling at the sight of Serena’s leopard print scrub cap and Serena raises an eyebrow questioningly, apparently able to see that Bernie’s smiling even with the mask covering her lower face.

“What?” she asks, her voice pitched low as they face each other across the table.

“Nice scrub cap,” Bernie observes, then lowers her head to examine the patient’s leg more closely. “This is going to be a big job.”

“Yes,” Serena agrees. 

“Alright, let’s get started,” Bernie says, receiving nods from everyone ranged around the table. She feels a certain satisfaction that Serena doesn’t try to wrest control of the operation from her, despite this being her ward. Of course, it makes sense for Bernie to lead since she’s the trauma expert, but she’s butted heads with enough consultants in this hospital since she began working here to appreciate it when Serena doesn’t try to take over.

Once they’re properly underway Serena picks up their conversation from the office. “You said you run.”

“Hmm?” asks Bernie, leaning in to peer more closely at the mess of bone in the young woman’s leg and picking out more fragments bone that are too small to be of use in pinning the leg back together.

“When you were saying what you do with your free time,” Serena elaborates. “You mentioned that you run.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Competitively? Marathons and that?”

“No. Well, I’ve done a couple of half marathons in the past. But not often. I run to stay fit and, since the IED, I run to improve my stamina. Running puts less strain on my back than lifting weights at the gym would.”

“Well, you’ve certainly got the legs for it,” Serena says, then blushes very prettily when Bernie looks up at her, eyebrows raised.

“Thank you,” she says, feeling amused by Serena’s reaction.

The brunette must sense Bernie’s amusement because her blush deepens, and she ducks her head to peer more closely at the work Bernie’s doing to deal with their patient’s damaged leg. 

“You also mentioned baking,” Serena says after a few minutes of silence.

“I did,” Bernie agrees. “I bake my own bread. I’m also learning to bake cakes and pastries, with varied success.” She chuckles. “I’m much better at bread, probably because it’s less delicate.” 

“Baking bread is a fairly good workout, too,” Serena observes.

“Which is why I do it,” Bernie says. “Well, that and I love the taste of fresh bread that I’ve baked.”

“Okay, let’s not talk about baking, or food,” Serena says, and Bernie looks up at her in concern. “I haven’t had any breakfast yet.”

Bernie makes a tsking noise. “Really, Ms Campbell, don’t you know that breakfast is the most important meal of the day?”

“I do,” Serena agrees immediately. “But I didn’t buy myself a pastry from Pulses this morning as I brought my coffee from home to ensure I’d have the good stuff.”

Bernie chuckles at this, her attention still focused on her work. “How’s that foot?” she asks. “Still warm?”

From the corner of her eye she sees Serena’s hands reach out for the patient’s foot. “For the moment,” she agrees. 

As Bernie works, wielding a bone saw, then beginning to screw the broken bones together with titanium plates, and Serena sets to work on an intricate vascular repair, they discuss some of the papers that Bernie’s recently read. Then Serena brings up the last one that Bernie wrote before the IED blew up her body and her career in one brutal explosion.

“And are you going to write up your successful atriocaval shunt?” Serena asks, nodding at the nurse as she takes away the instruments that she’s finished using.

Bernie feels her face heating up. “Oh. Um. Yes, I suppose I should.” She still feels a little sheepish about that, although she’s also proud of her success. 

“You definitely should,” Serena says with some emphasis. “Given your patient is only the seventh to have survived an atriocaval shunt, out of the thirty two patients it’s been performed on, you should definitely write it up. You owe it to the surgical community.”

“Then I guess I know what I’ll be doing with my free time over the Christmas break,” Bernie says ruefully. “Homework.”

Serena laughs softly. “Did I sound bossy?”

“Proper schoolmarm,” Bernie agrees. “Or like my CO.”

That makes Serena laugh some more, then she goes back to watching and assisting as Bernie screws plates to bones as casually as someone else might screw a table together.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“You did excellent work in there, Ms Wolfe,” Serena says as they’re scrubbing out together after several hours of complex surgery.

“Thanks. You too,” Bernie says tiredly.

“What are your plans for this evening?”

Bernie shakes her head slightly. “Grab some take away and make a start on writing that paper, I guess.” 

“Hmm.”

Bernie glances over at the other woman, but Serena’s attention is no longer on her, so she shakes the excess water from her hands and arms, then dries them off, before peeling off her apron and scrub cap: she’d discarded her gloves and mask as soon as she’d left the theatre.

They make their way back to the office and Bernie sits down with a soft groan of discomfort as her back makes known its displeasure at the fact that she’s just spent several hours on her feet bent over an operating table while saving a patient’s shattered leg.

“Alright there, soldier?” Serena asks, her tone teasing.

“Just my back making itself known,” Bernie says, reaching out to wake up her computer. She wonders if it’s too much to hope that they’ll have a quiet afternoon so that she can concentrate on getting ward rounds and paperwork done.

“Go and have a lie down in the on-call room,” Serena suggests. “I can cover here.”

“Wouldn’t help,” Bernie tells her. “I’d probably lie down and not be able to get back up again.”

“Do you need to get an appointment with your osteopath?”

Bernie huffs a laugh. “I fired the last one. Turns out I’m fussier than I thought about who puts their hands on me. Must be an Army thing.”

“Oh. Then I won’t suggest that I try to help out.”

Bernie feels her face flush with heat. “You?” she repeats.

“I’ve been told I’m quite good at giving back rubs,” Serena says. “But I’ll understand if you’d rather not.”

“Oh. Well. I, um, I wouldn’t mind if you’re sure?”

“Of course,” Serena says, looking pleased. She pulls out one of the guest chairs and positions it to the left of her desk. “Close the door on your way past.”

Bernie carefully gets to her feet, pushes the door closed, then straddles the chair with her back to Serena.

“I’m going to slide my hands under your scrub top,” Serena says. “If that’s acceptable?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Okay. Good.”

Bernie feels Serena pushing at her scrub top, then the warmth of Serena’s hands on her skin and she barely manages to bite back a moan as the brunette begins to massage her aching back.

“That feel okay?” she asks, sounding concerned.

“Feels brilliant,” Bernie says hoarsely. She can feel the knots in her muscles easing and loosening under Serena’s ministrations.

Ten minutes later she’s back at her own desk and Serena’s gone to wash her hands. She feels as if she could easily manage several more hours of surgery thanks to the brunette, but she sincerely hopes that she won’t need to spend more hours in surgery. Today’s been interesting enough.

When Serena returns, she’s carrying a cup of coffee from Pulses and a brown paper sack and Bernie can’t help raising her eyebrows at the sight.

“Someone’s regretting their missed breakfast, I presume?”

Serena sets down the coffee on Bernie’s desk. “That one’s for you. According to Jemima in Pulses, you like your coffee ‘strong and hot’.”

“I do,” Bernie agrees, surprised that the barista knows who she is, given how many hundreds of people pass through the coffeeshop daily.

“She also said that you tend to buy ham salad sandwiches and cheese scones when you buy lunch there. So that’s what I got you.”

“Serena.”

“Bernie?”

“You didn’t have to do that. But thank you.”

“Well, we’ve got to keep your strength up, haven’t we?” Serena returns to her own seat and Bernie sees her take from the sack a chicken salad wrap and a pain au chocolat. Bernie opens her sandwiches and begins to eat hungrily. She smiles and nods her thanks when Serena drops a couple of paper napkins onto her desk, before she starts on her wrap.

They eat their lunch while working through their paperwork, then Bernie goes to do the ward rounds, leaving Serena to finish her lunch and drink her coffee in peace.

It’s three o’clock when Bernie hears singing and for a moment she wonders if she’s fallen asleep and is dreaming carol singers are singing ‘Hark the Herald’, then the sound gets closer and she gets to her feet, moving to look through the office door just as the doors to the ward open and a group of carol singers walk through.

She glances back at Serena, who’s smirking at her obvious surprise. “Hospital tradition,” she says. “Every year on the afternoon of Christmas Eve a number of the staff make their way from ward to ward singing carols. It’s as much for the patients as for the staff.”

“I see.” Bernie resumes her seat. “I had noticed that your ward is well decorated.”

Serena grins now. “Yes, thank you. That’s Raf, Fletch, and Morven’s doing.”

“At your instigation, I’d wager,” Bernie says.

“You sound very certain of that,” Serena observes.

“Of course,” Bernie says. “Someone who runs as tight a ship as you do on this ward wouldn’t dream of allowing anyone to do anything here of which you didn’t approve.”

“You make me sound like an ogre,” Serena says.

“Not at all,” Bernie says instantly. “It’s very obvious to me that you’re a very strong and capable Clinical Lead.”

Serena’s cheeks flush pink. “Thank you.”

Bernie nods at her, then returns her attention to her paperwork.

The brunette clears her throat. “I wondered, since we’re both on our own, if you’d like to come and have supper with me this evening.” She sounds surprisingly diffident, Bernie thinks, given that Serena normally oozes self confidence.

“Thank you. That would be nice.”

Serena beams. “Good. If you give me your phone, I’ll put my number and address into it for you.” Bernie digs her phone from the pocket of her satchel, then hands it over. “7.30pm sound okay?”

Bernie nods, watching Serena’s fingers flying over her phone’s screen and trying not to think too much about how much she likes Serena’s hands (a thought she’d had earlier while the two of them had been repairing Clara Rattigan’s shattered leg).

“That sounds good, thank you. Do you want me to bring anything with me?”

Serena shakes her head. “Just yourself.”

“Okay.” 

An hour later, Serena says she's going to head home as she has a couple of things to pick up for tomorrow. 

“Text me if you run late here,” Serena says. “Otherwise, I'll see you at 7.30pm.”

“Okay. Thanks for inviting me over, Serena, I really appreciate it.” 

“You're welcome. See you later.” 

Bernie nods, trying not to watch Serena as she goes out. She really shouldn't ogle the brunette, but it's difficult not to when she's so effortlessly gorgeous. 

Five o'clock comes and Bernie hands over to Raf di Lucca, who's taking it in turns with his partner, Adrian Fletcher, to work the nightshifts during the Christmas break so that Serena has someone competent, and who knows the ward, in charge. She accepts the items he'd kindly picked up for her en route to the hospital, handing over the money and a bonus £20.

“What's this?” he asks, looking at the four banknotes in confusion.

“For the Fletchlings,” Bernie tells him. “Thanks, Raf. See you in the morning.” 

“See you tomorrow, Major,” he says, grinning now. 

Bernie makes her way out of the hospital, shivering at the bitter chill of the night air. She's still not used to winter in England after spending much of the last twenty five years serving in hot climates. She climbs into her car and waits a few moments for it to warm up, then she points it in the direction of her flat and drives home as swiftly as the speed limit allows. 

Once home she makes herself a cup of tea, then has a shower to warm herself up properly. She pulls on a sweater when she gets dressed again, although she’s sure that Serena’s home will be warmer than her own chilly flat. 

Then she goes to the kitchen and puts a spiced fruit loaf of bread and some mince pies (both homemade) into a Christmassy cake tin, adding the tin to the carrier bag that Raf brought in for her.

She's just wondering whether to make another cup of tea when her phone starts ringing. 

“Wolfe,” she says reflexively. 

A familiar chuckle sounds in her ear. “Campbell,” says Serena in a teasing tone. 

Bernie blushes. “Hi Serena.”

“I wondered if you would like to stay over tonight? I've got a couple of very cosy guest rooms to offer you. Thought it might be nicer than having to make your way back home later as they're forecasting ice, and even the possibility of sleet, tonight.” 

“Oh,” Bernie says, completely astonished by the offer. “Thank you, that's very kind of you.” 

“And a bit selfish,” Serena says. 

“How so?”

“I get to share your company for longer if you don't have to rush off home to avoid the weather. You've been working at Holby for months, but I still hardly know you.”

Bernie chuckles. “I feel like the new girl whom the Head Girl wants to befriend.”

“Is that okay?” Serena asks, and Bernie is surprised to again hear that note of diffidence in her voice that she'd heard when Serena had invited her to supper earlier in the day. 

“Serena, if you want to befriend me I won't object. I'm hardly beating new friends off with a stick. In fact, I can literally count the number of new friends I've made since starting at Holby on the fingers of one hand and have fingers left over.”

“So who do you count among your new friends?” asks Serena, sounding full of curiosity. 

“Dominic Copeland, Morven Digby, and Zosia March.”

“Morven?” Serena repeats, clearly surprised. 

“Mmhmm.”

“I want to hear all about it this evening,” Serena says. 

Bernie chuckles again. 

“What?”

“Well, now I feel like I'm being vetted for suitability for friendship with your daughter or something.”

“Well, you are a grizzled veteran of twenty five years service,” Serena says with a hint of laughter in her voice.

“Grizzled, is it?” Bernie says with a snort. 

Serena laughs properly. “So you'll stay the night, then?”

“I will. Thank you. Now, if I'm to get to yours in a timely fashion, I need to get off the phone and pack an overnight bag.”

“Alright. Drive safely and I’ll see you in a bit.”

“I’ll be there,” Bernie promises.

She feels a tingle of excitement at the prospect of staying at Serena’s. She knows from her conversations with young Morven Digby that Serena is a warm, caring, and nurturing person, and she has no doubt that her home will reflect that aspect of her personality. She also knows that Serena, according to Morven, can be very strict – particularly on the matter of staff fraternisation, having heard all about how Serena had initially been somewhat unimpressed with Morven getting together with Arthur Digby. 

She digs out her kitbag from the bottom of her wardrobe, then pulls open a drawer and puts in underwear, a vest top and a long sleeved shirt, then adds a long sleeved thermal t-shirt to wear under her scrub top tomorrow as she’s begun finding it cold in theatre. She puts toothpaste, her toothbrush in its holder, and her usual shower gel into her toiletries bag, then adds some of the painkillers she’s been prescribed for her back, just in case it plays her up after today’s surgery. She’s got a special orthopaedic mattress to help support her back, but she suspects Serena will have a bog standard one on the bed in her guestrooms, so it’s best to be prepared for the possibility that something will do a number on her back. 

Going back to the kitchen she adds the Christmassy cake tin to her overnight bag, then the bottle of Shiraz that Raf had purchased for her to give to Serena. She’d asked his advice on what wine to get for the brunette since she couldn’t remember what it is that Serena drinks. She’s only once shared drinks with Serena and the AAU team at Albies, but she hadn’t really paid much attention, at the time, to the specifics of what anyone had been drinking. She leaves the Poinsettia plant in its pot in the carrier bag as it will be safer there than in her overnight bag.

Then she slips her feet back into her boots, pulls on her pale pink wool coat (a long ago Christmas gift from her children), and grabbing her bags, she switches off the lights, locks the door, then makes her way downstairs to the car park. She drops her kitbag onto the passenger seat, then props the Poinsettia against it, before sliding into the driver’s seat and starting up her car.

The drive across town to Serena’s home takes her nearly thirty minutes and she’s grateful that the roads are relatively quiet, particularly as it’s already started to freeze. 

She pulls into Serena’s drive behind her car, then grabs her bags and climbs out. She locks the car, then walks up the drive to the front door. There’s a Christmas wreath on the door and strings of lights are twined around the pillars of the porch. The front door opens before she can knock, and Bernie feels her breath hitch at the sight of Serena. The brunette has changed out of the navy slacks and flowy silk blouse she was wearing at work earlier in the day and is wearing a burgundy dress with a plunging neckline that shows off a creamy expanse of cleavage. It stops a little way past Serena’s knees, showing off her well muscled calves in sheer stockings.

“Hello, you,” she says warmly, stepping back to allow Bernie inside.

“You look lovely, Serena,” Bernie says, finally finding her tongue. “You should have said that you were going to dress up and I would have too.”

Serena flushes pink, making her look even prettier in Bernie’s eyes. “It’s fine that you haven’t,” she says. “I just like to dress up at Christmas. It makes me feel more festive.”

Bernie nods, then holds out the carrier bag containing the Poinsettia. “This is for you.” Serena takes it and Bernie immediately unzips her kitbag and pulls out the bottle of Shiraz in its special gift bag. “So’s this.”

“Oh Bernie,” she says, her blush deepening. “You really didn’t have to get me anything. But thank you.” She steps further down the hall, then says, “Why don’t you take off your coat and boots and come through to the kitchen.” She glances at Bernie’s kitbag and smiles. “Leave your bag here, you can take it upstairs after we’ve eaten.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Bernie sets down her bag, then pulls off her coat and boots, before padding after Serena in her socks.

“Do you really not own any slippers?” Serena asks as they enter the kitchen.

Bernie chuckles. “No. Wearing slippers in the barracks would’ve earned me endless ribbing because that’s not what the lads wore. When the children were small and there was Lego and other hazards to the feet around on the floor, I used to wear an old pair of trainers around the house. Marcus claimed I did it to be macho.”

Serena tuts. “Of course he did. However did you stay married to that man for so long?” She gestures for Bernie to take a seat and she does.

Bernie chuckles. “Well, I did spend most of my marriage in combat zones rather than at home. The longest I spent at home was when I was pregnant. Both times I came home at the end of the second trimester and remained at home until my maternity leave was up. Marcus hated having me underfoot, especially the second time as, according to him, I constantly messed up Cameron’s routines. But at the same time, he resented the fact that I would be going back to the RAMC after my maternity leave was up.”

“Was it hard, leaving your children, your babies, at home and going back overseas where there was a strong possibility you might be killed in action?” 

Bernie shrugs. “I don’t think it was that much harder for me than for any other new mother to return to work. And the fact that I might be killed wasn’t that much of a factor for me. After all, anyone might be killed doing their everyday things. You can be hit by a bus or a car. Hell, these days, you can be killed by a random person with a knife or a gun. Marcus was in as much danger as I was since I was a non-combatant. It might have been different if I’d been a combatant on active service.”

“Hmm.” Serena opens the bottle of Shiraz, then sets the Poinsettia in the middle of the table. “I hope you like chilli,” she says.

“I do,” Bernie agrees.

“Good. I should have asked you that after I invited you to come over.”

“I eat most things, to be honest,” Bernie says. “And I particularly like spicy food. I ate a lot of curries in Afghanistan.”

“Good to know.” Serena smiles, then sets about laying the table, refusing Bernie’s offer of help with, “You’re my guest, so you just sit there.”

“Oh. I forgot I’ve got something else for you in my kitbag.” Bernie gets up and hurries back into the hall, returning shortly with the Christmassy tin holding her spiced loaf and the mince pies.

“Here,” she says, setting the tin down on the counter near Serena.

“What’s this?” asks the brunette.

Bernie chuckles and Serena rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, alright. Would you mind taking the lid off for me?” she asks, nodding at the rice she’s steaming.

“Of course.” Bernie lifts the lid off the tin and Serena leans over to look in.

“I presume these are home made mince pies?” Bernie nods. “And the loaf?”

Bernie nods again. “It’s a spiced loaf. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and apple loaf, to be exact. It took a lot of experimentation to get the recipe to my taste as the original recipe had walnuts in it.”

“Not a fan, I take it?”

Bernie pulls an exaggeratedly disgusted face, making Serena laugh. “Not remotely a fan,” she confirms.

“Well, I look forward to trying it.”

“I thought we could share some for breakfast tomorrow,” Bernie says shyly.

“Excellent. Why don’t you leave the tin at the back of the counter, where it won’t be in the way, and I’ll just finish up making supper.” 

“Okay.” Bernie puts the lid back on the tin, then slides it to the back of the counter before resuming her seat.

“And Bernie?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you very much for your generosity.”

Bernie feels her face heating up. “Well likewise,” she says. “You didn’t have to invite me over.”

Eventually the chilli con carne is served, with fluffy white rice and a green side salad, and at first they’re too busy eating to talk, but eventually Serena asks, “So you and Morven are friends?”

Bernie nods, her mouth too full of food to speak for a moment. Then she swallows, drinks some of the beer that Serena has provided as an accompaniment to the chili (surprising Bernie who hadn’t pictured Serena as a beer drinker at all), before speaking.

“Do you remember that day there was a pile up on the motorway and I came down to help?”

Serena snorts inelegantly. “As if I could ever forget.”

Bernie nods. “Morven was pretty cut up over that young boy we lost.”

“Daniel,” Serena says. “Just turned ten.”

Bernie nods again. “I went up to the roof for a cigarette.” She holds up her hands. “I know, I know, I should know better than to smoke.”

“I said nothing,” Serena says, rather primly, Bernie thinks.

“No, but I could hear you thinking,” she teases, eliciting a chuckle. “Anyway, Morven was up there, sobbing her heart out. So we talked for a bit and she asked me how I coped with losing my comrades when I was serving with the RAMC. After that conversation I told her that she could come and talk to me any time if she felt she couldn’t cope. We’ve shared a few coffees on the roof and a few drinks at Albies since.”

“I see.”

Serena’s tone is very dry and Bernie wonders if the other woman feels she’s overstepped her bounds somehow. After all, she’s aware that Serena is Morven’s mentor on AAU.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I wasn’t trying to step on your toes or muscle in on your territory, or anything like that. I –”

“Bernie, it’s fine.” Serena’s tone is firm, and she looks closely at the brunette, wondering if she’s saying one thing and feeling another, but her expression seems sincere. “I mean,” she adds, as if she can tell what Bernie’s thinking. “I’m glad that Morven’s found someone else to talk to, and I’m especially glad that it’s someone with your experience. Thank you for helping her.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Bernie says. “And, well, I’m used to training other medics, you know.”

Serena nods, looking thoughtful. “You’re wasted on Keller,” she says.

Bernie chuckles. “Well, quite. But Keller needed a consultant while Sacha’s been away and I am a locum, employed to fill in wherever I’m needed.”

They finish up the chilli, rice, and salad, then Serena makes some custard, and they have mince pies and custard for dessert.

“I’m not sure I can move,” Bernie groans. “I think this might be the best meal I’ve eaten since I came back to England.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Major,” Serena says with a glint in her eye that Bernie cannot quite interpret.

“Promises, promises,” she retorts, smirking, which elicits laughter.

“Cup of tea?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright. I’ll put the kettle on, then I’ll show you upstairs to your room.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the evening is pleasant: they mostly talk shop with Serena’s Christmas music playlist on in the background, then they eventually make their way up to bed a little after 11pm.

“Are you going to be in tomorrow?” Bernie asks as they pause on the landing to say their goodnights.

“I don’t want to cramp your style,” Serena says and Bernie senses that she would like to be there rather than alone in her empty house.

“I don’t consider your presence to put a cramp in my style,” Bernie says. “I’d be glad to have you if you want to come in.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Serena says.

“Yes?”

“I’ll come in to work tomorrow if you agree to come back to mine and have Christmas dinner with me.”

Bernie opens her mouth to refuse, then closes it again, thinking of the warmth of Serena’s house, and of the woman herself, of how welcome she’s felt here this evening.

“I’d like that, thank you.”

“Good.” Serena leans in and kisses her on the cheek, surprising Bernie. “Goodnight, Berenice.”

Bernie feels a flood of warmth through her body, both at the kiss and the way Serena’s mouth seems to caress her full name.

“Goodnight, Serena.”

Bernie slips into her room and sighs softly. She has a strong suspicion that she’s in the process of falling ridiculously hard for Serena Campbell.


	2. Christmas Day

Bernie’s awake before the alarm on her phone can wake her the next morning: as predicted the mattress on Serena’s guestroom bed combined with the hours she had spent bent over in surgery have done a number on her back and she wakes up in sheer agony. She needs to move but her muscles are in spasm and it takes an enormous effort just to reach out and grab her phone from the nightstand. She dials Serena’s number, feeling guilty about waking the other woman up when it’s not even 4am, but she does need help.

“Bernie? What’s wrong?” Serena’s voice is low and raspy with sleep and Bernie feels the concern in it curl through her body.

“Back’s spasming,” she gasps out. “I –”

“I’m coming,” Serena says immediately and cuts the call.

Bernie taps at her phone to shut down the call, then groans as another muscle spasm wracks her.

The door opens and Serena comes in wearing brushed cotton pyjamas in burgundy with a fine white stripe in them. She has the most amazing bed hair, which makes her look adorable, but doesn’t stop her from looking gorgeous as far as Bernie’s concerned.

“Sorry,” she gasps.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Serena says briskly. “It’s not your fault you got blown up.” She holds up a bottle and Bernie squints at it. “I’ve brought some Jasmine oil. Thought I could give you a proper back massage.”

“Thanks.”

With Serena’s help, Bernie shifts to lie on her stomach and Serena pushes her t-shirt up and, after a bit of a struggle, takes it off completely.

“Okay, this will probably hurt for a bit.”

“There’re painkillers in my toiletries bag,” Bernie says, remembering that she’d put them in her bag yesterday.

“Okay. Let me grab you a glass of water and you can take them before I begin.”

“Thanks.”

Serena disappears briefly, then returns with a toothmug full of water. Bernie props herself up on her elbow so that she can swallow the tablets and it’s only when Serena takes the toothmug from her, her cheeks flaming pink, that Bernie realises the other woman’s copped an eyeful of her breasts. She mutters an apology, although she doesn’t really care at this point, and resumes her prone position. Serena straddles her thighs and sets to work, the warmth of her hands and the Jasmine oil immediately bringing some relief to Bernie’s back.

“How’s that?” Serena asks eventually, having worked her way from the small of Bernie’s back to her neck and shoulders.

“Much better, thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up.”

Serena shakes her head, shifting position so that she’s kneeling on the side of the bed, then climbing off it. “I’m only glad I was here to help. Do you often wake up in agony?” 

“Not to that degree,” Bernie says. “Operating on Ms Rattigan yesterday didn’t help. Normally that wouldn’t matter when I’m at home in my flat because I’ve got a special orthopaedic mattress on my bed.”

“So this is my fault,” Serena says, sounding horrified, and Bernie rolls over – and thoroughly enjoys how easy a move that is now – and sits up to grab Serena’s hands. 

“No, it’s not your fault, Serena. It’s a combination of things, at least one of which has absolutely nothing to do with you. If you want to blame anyone, blame that driver who carried out that hit-and-run on Clara Rattigan yesterday.”

It’s not until she notices Serena’s blushing very profusely that Bernie realises she’s naked to the waist and only wearing a pair of skimpy shorts on her lower half. She lets go of Serena’s hands with a muttered apology, then pulls her t-shirt back on.

“I don’t think I’m likely to get any more sleep now,” she says as Serena moves towards the bedroom door. “So I might as well get dressed and make a start on the day. Mind if I take a shower?”

“Of course not,” Serena says immediately. “I’ll get you some towels.”

“Thanks.”

When Serena returns she has a small stack of towels in her hands and a gift-wrapped item on the top.

“What’s this?” Bernie asks, confused.

Serena rolls her eyes and Bernie snorts. “Yes, alright. I’ll find out if I open it. But how are you giving me a Christmas gift?”

“I went and bought something for you yesterday after I left work.”

“You needn’t have done, but thank you.” Bernie takes the gift off the top of the stack of towels and carefully opens it, then starts laughing. “Thank you very much,” she splutters. The gift that Serena’s bought her is a pair of slippers: mid blue moccasins with a cream fake fur trim. “Very appropriate.”

Serena smirks. “I’m glad that you like them. I hope they’re the right size.”

Bernie slips them onto her feet one after the other, then stands up. “Perfect, thank you.” She reaches out and clasps Serena’s shoulders before pressing a kiss to her cheek, then she takes the stack of towels from her and grabs her toiletries bag.

“I’ll go and start the coffeemaker,” Serena says, her cheeks flushed pink yet again. 

“Sounds good,” Bernie agrees. She follows Serena out of the bedroom and heads for the bathroom to take a shower that will start off cold in order to cool her ardour before she runs it hot to wash herself.

Dressed and wearing her new slippers, Bernie makes her way downstairs, leaving her packed kitbag in the hall by the coat rack. She heads into the kitchen where the coffeemaker is ready to dispense coffee. Of Serena there’s no sign so Bernie assumes she’s getting dressed as well. She grabs the spiced loaf from the tin and sets about cutting four generous slices, then she rattles about the cupboards and drawers finding plates and mugs and cutlery. She locates the toaster and sticks two slices of bread in, then makes herself a cup of coffee.

Serena arrives, dressed in a black sweater with a reindeer wearing a Santa hat on the front of it and Bernie chuckles at the sight. 

“Why am I not surprised that you’re the sort of person who wears Christmas jumpers?” 

Serena waggles her eyebrows at her, then holds out a sweater. Bernie rolls her eyes, then takes it, shakes it, and finds there’s a snowman in a top hat and bow tie on the front. 

“And if I don’t wear it?” Bernie asks curiously.

“Oh, that’s easy. No Christmas dinner for you, Major Wolfe.”

Bernie huffs, then pulls off the forest green sweater she’s already wearing and swaps it for the snowman one. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms Campbell.”

Serena smirks, then moves to make herself a mug of coffee as the bread pops up in the toaster. 

“Do you want your spice loaf toasted, too?” 

“Yes please.”

“Here, then.” Bernie sticks one of the slices onto a plate and passes it to Serena, then butters the second for herself before sticking another two slices into the toaster.

They eat their toast and drink their coffee in an amicable silence, with the radio playing festive music in the background. Then Serena loads up the dishwasher.

“I had intended to invite you to stay over again tonight,” she says, her tone not quite as nonchalant as Bernie suspects she’s aiming for. “But I suppose you’d prefer not to, given the way you woke up this morning.”

“Oh.” Bernie feels herself flushing, and sees Serena is, too, and wonders if she’s also thinking of the way Bernie had effectively flashed her not once, but twice. “Actually, I’d like that, if you’re sure. I mean, I don’t want you to get bored with my company, since we’re also going to be working together.”

“It’s very unlikely I’d ever get bored of you, Berenice Wolfe,” Serena says with a warmth and sincerity that Bernie finds deeply touching.

“Well then yes, I’d like that. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Do you want to drive in together?” she asks.

“Oh. Well, I was thinking of going via my flat,” Bernie says. “So I can get some more clean clothes. But if you don’t mind a detour, we can do that?”

“I don’t mind. We’ve got plenty of time in hand, after all. Although I think it might be better if we take my car.”

“Really? Why?”

“Yours is so – dinky.”

She says the last word as if it’s something awful and Bernie snorts. “Size isn’t everything, Ms Campbell.”

That elicits a snort from Serena and Bernie raises her eyebrows in confusion. “Sorry, I just associate that phrase with men and their dick measuring contests.”

Bernie can’t help bursting into laughter and Serena gives her an astonished look as she hears the ‘goose honk’ that Bernie cannot keep under control. Soon they’re both laughing almost hysterically, each clinging to the back of a kitchen chair in an attempt to keep themselves upright.

“Oh god,” Serena gasps. “I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. And your laugh. You sound like –” 

She pauses as if trying to come with a descriptor that doesn’t sound too rude and Bernie, wiping tears from her eyes, says, “A goose, I know.”

“Well, yes,” Serena agrees. 

Bernie shakes her head. “My car?” she asks.

“Very well, Major.”

Bernie smirks in triumph, neatly folds up her own sweater and carries into the hall to stick it in her kitbag, then they pull on their coats and footwear. She smiles at the sight of her slippers, which she leaves at Serena’s since she’s returning later, then leads the way out to their cars. 

“Blimey!” Serena says, looking startled at how thick the frost is on their cars.

“Do you want to wait in the house until I get the car warmed up and the windows cleared?” Bernie suggests. 

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Well, we’re in no rush.”

“True.” Bernie carries her kitbag down the drive and puts it into her boot, then pulls out the ice scraper and can of de-icer and sets to work on clearing the windscreen and back window, scraping vigorously to warm herself up as it really is very cold outside this morning. She can’t help thinking wistfully of lying in a warm bed in a warm room, curled up under blankets while reading a book, and just enjoying the thought of not having to go out in the cold. She wonders when was the last time that she did such a thing and suspects she hasn’t done it since she was a student.

Eventually the windows are clear, and the car is warm, so Bernie hurries back up the drive and knocks on the front door and Serena comes out, locking the door behind her, then follows Bernie back down the drive to the car.

“Ooh toasty!” Serena says as she climbs into the passenger seat.

Bernie chuckles. “Yes, it is. I’ll say this for my ‘dinky’ car, it warms up efficiently.” She makes air quote around the word dinky and Serena chuckles.

“It does. Much more efficiently than mine.”

Bernie smirks at this and gets a swat on the arm in response. “Oi, no attacking the driver or we might not arrive in one piece.”

“Fair point,” Serena says, as Bernie pulls out of her drive and turns towards her flat. 

She drives carefully, mindful of the possibility of black ice on the roads since the ambient temperature is not yet warm enough to melt ice. She pulls up outside her block of flats and asks, rather diffidently, “Do you want to wait here or come in?”

“How long are you going to be?”

“Five minutes, or less,” Bernie says. 

“Then I’ll wait here if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Bernie says. “I’ll leave the car running so it’ll stay warm for you.”

“Thank you.”

Bernie nods, then climbs out of the car, grabs her kitbag from the boot, then makes her way inside. She can’t help feeling a sense of relief that Serena didn’t want to come in since her bare flat looks pretty uninviting compared to the warmth of Serena’s detached home with its extensive garden. 

She lets herself in and hurries through to her bedroom where she grabs more clean underwear, adding a couple more vest tops and long sleeve shirts, and carefully folding up a smart jacket, which she slips into the top of her bag. 

Then she moves into the kitchen and grabs the mulled wine spices that she bought but has yet to use, before putting the rest of the mince pies and the gingerbread people that she’d baked when she made the mince pies into a tin. She carries that, a bottle of whisky, and the kitbag downstairs and out to the car. She slips the bottle of whisky into her kitbag as she’s waiting for the lift to descend. She doesn’t know if Serena drinks whisky, but it’s something to share if she does. 

“Four and a half minutes,” Serena says when Bernie opens the car door, then adds, “What’s this?” as she passes her the tin.

“The rest of the mince pies and some gingerbread people,” Bernie tells her as settles into the driver’s seat and fastens her seat belt. “It is Christmas Day after all. Which reminds me, Happy Christmas, Serena.”

Serena chuckles. “Happy Christmas, Berenice.”

They arrive at the hospital in a timely fashion and Bernie can’t help wondering if anyone will see them arriving together and draw the wrong conclusion. She’d very much like the wrong conclusion to be the right one, of course: she wants to be more than friends with Serena, but she has no idea if Serena’s interested in women, and she doesn’t want to make a fool of herself. After all, she has no idea how much longer she’s going to be working at Holby City. As a locum consultant she could have her contract terminated at any time: Sacha Levy, the consultant for whom she’s been filling in is still on medical leave following his almost suicide a few months ago, but he might return at any time as Hanssen had made clear when he interviewed for the post. 

“I’m going to grab a coffee,” Bernie tells Serena as they enter the hospital. “Do you want one?” 

“Yes please,” she says with a smile. 

“How do you take it?”

Serena’s smile broadens into a grin. “Like you, I like my coffee strong and hot.” 

“Duly noted,” Bernie says with a chuckle. “I’ll be there shortly.”

When she enters the consultant’s office on AAU, Serena is already busy on her computer, but she gives Bernie a warm smile when she sets down the cup of coffee.

“Thanks.”

Bernie nods, then settles into the chair at the other desk and starts reviewing the stack of patient files sitting there. She finds herself wondering what it would be like to work with Serena all the time, for them to be co-leads of AAU. Then she shakes herself mentally: there’s no point in allowing herself to daydream about such a thing. Working with Serena permanently is as much of a pipe dream as having a more-than-friends relationship with the other woman.

The day goes well: they deal with two relatively minor surgeries (at least compared to Clara Rattigan’s yesterday), complete ward rounds and patient paperwork, eat lunch together, and then slip out quietly at two o’clock when Fletch arrives. Bernie wishes him a Merry Christmas as he thanks her for the £20 she sent via Raf the day before, and Bernie puts half a dozen gingerbread people into the empty paper bag that she’d used to bring up lunch from Pulses. 

“Mind you don’t drop them,” she warns him when she hands the bag over.

He peers inside, then pulls one of the biscuits out and inspects it. “You made these yourself?” he asks.

“I did,” Bernie agrees.

“She’s not just a pretty face you know,” Serena says with a grin as she joins Bernie at the nurses’ station, Bernie’s coat draped over her arm and her satchel hooked over her shoulder. 

“Blimey!” Fletch exclaims. “Talented surgeon, talented baker. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“I’ve yet to master filo dough,” Bernie says deadpan.

That elicits laughter from both of them, and Bernie wishes Fletch a Merry Christmas, getting a whiskery kiss on the cheek in response, before she pulls on her coat, accepts her satchel from Serena, and makes her way off the ward, the brunette grinning at her side.

They make their way out to the car park and climb into Bernie’s car. Then Bernie climbs back out to scrape the windscreen as she can see it has a thin layer of ice on it. 

“Looks like it’s going to be really cold tonight,” she observes.

“At least we’ll be in the warm,” Serena says, sounding satisfied at the prospect.

“True.” Bernie drives carefully to Serena’s and she carries the tin containing the remainder of the gingerbread people and mince pies while Bernie carries her kitbag.

Serena carries the tin into the kitchen while Bernie heads upstairs, as soon as she’s removed her coat and boots and donned her slippers, to leave her kitbag in the guest room she’d used the night before. She carries the bottle of whisky and the mulling spices kit back down to the kitchen, and is greeted by the sight of Serena bopping along to some song on the radio that she cannot identify having spent so little time in England during her twenty five years with the RAMC.

“What are you listening to?” she asks.

Serena startles and glares at her briefly. “Could you wear louder shoes, please?”

Bernie grins. “It’s not my fault you didn’t buy me the clomp-y slippers,” she teases, and gets a swat on the arm for that riposte.

“You know, I didn’t have you down as a serial smacker,” she says, dodging out of range this time.

Serena laughs. “To answer your question, this is East 17 and ‘Stay Another Day’.”

“Oh, well I did,” Bernie says with a grin.

“So you did.” Serena looks at the bottle of whisky in Bernie’s hand with a raised eyebrow. “Shiraz not good enough for you?” she asks lightly.

“Not at all,” Bernie says quickly. “I just thought the whisky might make a nice change, but if it’s not your tipple, that’s fine. I also have this.”

Serena takes the bag from Bernie’s other hand and opens it. “Oh, mulled wine. Yes, that’s definitely something we should do.”

“Why don’t I get it started, and then I’ll help you with making dinner?”

“Okay.” Serena selects a bottle of red wine, not Shiraz, Bernie notes with a secret smile, and passes it over, then gets out a saucepan and a spoon. “That everything?”

“Strainer?” Bernie asks, “and a couple of mugs or glasses to pour it into.”

“Of course.” Bernie uncorks the wine and pours it into the saucepan, then adds pieces of cinnamon stick and the mulling spices and stirs them together. Serena sets two mugs, decorated with robins, on the counter nearby, then finds the strainer. 

“Don’t you need an orange?” she asks.

“Oh, yes, good point. Please tell me –” Bernie chuckles when Serena passes her an orange from the fruit bowl in the corner of the counter, then asks, “Peeled or unpeeled?”

“Peeled, I think,” Serena says, opening a drawer to pass out a sharp knife. 

“Thanks.” Bernie peels the orange, then slices it and adds the slices to the mix in the saucepan, then she turns on the cooker and sets the pan on the ring to gently heat up. “Okay, I’m all yours,” she tells Serena. “What can I do to help?”

“I’m doing a turkey crown,” Serena tells her. “Ellie and I have been having one for the last few years since it’s smaller and we both like the white meat.”

“Makes sense,” Bernie agrees.

“And then I usually do a mixture of vegetables. I’ve got red cabbage, carrots, Brussel sprouts, and parsnips. What would you like?”

“Well, it’s not Christmas dinner without some of everything, is it?” Bernie says cheerfully.

Serena grins. “I think so, too.” 

They set to work prepping the vegetables, fortified by the mulled wine, and Bernie can’t help wondering if cooking with Serena would always be this easy and fun. They seem to work as seamlessly in Serena’s kitchen as they do in theatre, hardly needing to ask for what they need. It’s almost as if they’re telepathic, they’re so in tune. She can’t remember ever finding cooking with Marcus so much fun. In fact, it tended to be fraught as Marcus had his set ways of doing things and hated it if she wanted to do things differently for a change. Serena, by contrast, seems quite amenable to Bernie’s recipe suggestions. Although, Bernie concedes, that might just be the mulled wine mellowing her mood. Finally, everything’s in the oven and they retire to the sitting room to finish up the mulled wine and nibble on gingerbread people while they wait.

Serena puts on a festive CD and they fall to discussing childhood Christmases, and Bernie wishes she dared to put an arm around Serena as she talks about the first Christmas after her father died. Bernie recounts being twelve and losing her mother to breast cancer just the week before Christmas. Serena clasps her hand and squeezes gently as Bernie talks around the lump of emotion in her throat.

They also talk of places they might spend Christmas, other than at home, and Bernie is completely unsurprised when Serena immediately says she’d like to spend it in the South of France, visiting wineries. 

“Of course that’s where you’d pick,” Bernie says with a laugh and Serena bumps her shoulder against Bernie’s. 

“What about you?” she asks.

Bernie shrugs. “I’ve spent so many Christmases away from home that spending them at home holds more appeal these days.”

“So I couldn’t tempt you to join me in the South of France, then?” 

Bernie wonders if she’s imagining the disappointment she thinks she hears in Serena’s voice. “Well, since it’s you,” she says, laughing softly.

“Good.”

About half an hour before dinner should be ready they head upstairs to change having agreed that they would dress up a little for their Christmas dinner. Bernie is glad that when she brought her kitbag upstairs she’d thought to hang up her jacket and the shirt she’ll be wearing with it as it means neither are too crumpled. She retains her skinny jeans, but she takes off the Christmas jumper that Serena had given her that morning, then her shirt and the vest top she’d worn under it. She decides not to bother with another vest top as Serena’s house is toasty warm. She slips the shirt on, buttoning it rapidly, but daring to leave the top two buttons undone to bare her throat. She adds her RAMC cufflinks to the sleeves of the shirt, then pulls on the jacket over it. She checks the mirror on the door of the wardrobe and decides to fold back the sleeves of the jacket just once so that her shirt cuffs, and therefore the cufflinks, can be seen. 

When she gets downstairs she can hear Serena in the kitchen, so she makes her way there, then stops and stares. She’d thought the dress Serena was wearing yesterday was amazing, but tonight’s surpasses it: it’s emerald green and when she turns, Bernie sees that it dips low enough that she fears she’ll be able to see Serena’s breasts if she stands too close. 

“My, my, don’t you scrub up well, Major.”

Bernie swallows. “You look stunning, Serena,” she says huskily.

Serena closes the distance between them and reaches out to trace a fingertip along Bernie’s collarbone.

“S-Serena?”

“Shall I tell you a secret?” the brunette asks, leaning in close to whisper the words by Bernie’s ear.

“Y-yes.”

“I really want to kiss you.”

“Oh,” breathes Bernie, hope flaring brightly and warmth surging through her body. “Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I – um – I’d like that very much,” Bernie tells her, trying not to sound too eager.

“Yes?”

She nods, then sighs when Serena closes the small gap between them and presses her mouth to Bernie’s. They lose themselves in the kiss which quickly goes from tentative to passionate and it’s only when the oven timer pings that they pull apart, both of them licking their lips.

“You taste delicious,” Serena tells her.

Bernie unwinds her arms, realising that she hadn’t even noticed that she’d wrapped her left arm across Serena’s shoulders, nor that she’d slid her right hand to the back of Serena’s neck. Serena’s right hand had been buried in her hair, while her left arm was wrapped across the back of Bernie’s shoulders.

“You do, too,” Bernie tells her. She swallows. “I, um, I didn’t know you liked women.”

Serena chuckles, nervously, Bernie thinks. “Well, to tell the truth, I’ve never been more than friends with a woman before, but I’ve been wanting to kiss you since we first met.”

“Oh. I had no idea,” she observes as they move across the kitchen to begin taking the food from the oven. “You hid it very well.”

“And you?” Serena asks, definitely sounding nervous this time.

“Oh, the same,” Bernie says. “You were ranting at that mechanic and I thought, ‘I think I’d like to kiss you’. You sounded very commanding.”

Serena smirks, a glint in her eye. “Of course,” she says silkily. “You’re a soldier. You’re used to following orders, aren’t you?”

Bernie nods, feeling a surge of lust at the thought of Serena giving her orders in bed.

“Later,” the brunette says, her voice low and sultry now. “First let’s eat this delicious meal we’ve prepared.”

“Okay,” Bernie says huskily.

They load the table with dishes of vegetables and the serving platter holding the turkey crown, and Bernie carves thick slices for them both, then they fill their plates with crisp, golden roast potatoes, spoonfuls of vegetables, and gravy. Then they settle in to eat. 

They don’t talk much, but their eyes meet repeatedly across the table and Bernie can feel her body throbbing with want thanks to the heated looks that Serena’s directing her way. She cannot recall a time when she’s ever wanted to be with someone as much as she wants Serena Campbell. It’s a little bit terrifying, but it’s also thrilling. 

Once dinner’s eaten, they clear the table swiftly, Serena dealing with the leftovers while Bernie loads up the dishwasher with military efficiency. 

They make their way upstairs hand in hand and Bernie lets Serena lead her into her bedroom, which is as elegantly appointed as she’d expected, knowing Serena.

They undress each other slowly and with care, then they settle under the covers, lying on their sides facing each other.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Bernie asks tenderly, reaching out to cup Serena’s cheek and brushing the pad of her thumb over her cheekbone.

“Bit late to ask me that now,” Serena says with a chuckle.

“No, it’s not,” Bernie says firmly. “We don’t have to do anything except sleep in each other’s arms if you’re not ready for more. So, are you sure?”

“I’m very sure,” Serena says firmly.

“Good,” murmurs Bernie. She shifts closer so that their breasts are pressed lightly together and hooks her right leg over the top of Serena’s left leg, pressing their lower bodies together, too. “If you want to stop at any point, just tell me, please.”

Serena swallows, then nods. “Okay.”

“Good.”

Bernie is as tender, careful, and considerate as she knows how to be, their first time, but Serena takes charge the second time, which is no surprise to the trauma surgeon. The brunette is as quick a study at discovering how to pleasure Bernie as she is at anything else she sets her mind to and it’s not long before Bernie is sprawled, spent and sated, beside Serena in the middle of her enormous bed.

“Alright, soldier?” she asks in a teasing tone.

Bernie blows out a breath. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to move again,” she tells her. Then she has to stifle a yawn with the back of her hand. “God, sorry.”

Serena chuckles filthily. “Seems I’ve worn out the big macho army medic.”

“I’m not as young as I once was,” Bernie says. 

Serena slides her left arm under Bernie’s torso, drawing her closer, then grabs the bedding that they’d flung back earlier, and pulls it up over their cooling bodies.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“You’ve no need to thank me,” Bernie says immediately. 

“Maybe not,” Serena says, “but now I have.”

Bernie chuckles, then stifles a second yawn, and Serena presses a kiss to her cheek.

“I’d better let you get some sleep,” she observes, “since you, at least, have to be at work tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Bernie says softly, feeling very sleepy. 

“Goodnight Berenice. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight Serena and Merry Christmas.”

They snuggle down together, and Bernie can’t help thinking that this has been the best Christmas she’s ever had and being with Serena is definitely the best Christmas gift she’s ever received. Today marks the start of something new and wonderful and she just hopes that she won’t mess it up.

“I can hear you thinking,” Serena says quietly in her ear. “Go to sleep, Berenice. I need you well rested to run my ward for me tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She drifts off to sleep with a smile on her face, unaware of Serena beside her, still awake for the moment and thoroughly enjoying the sight of the blonde sleeping in her bed. Today’s been wonderful and Serena’s never been happier in her life.


End file.
